Before I write this, before I be brutally honest about something I need to add a caveat … I think a lot of people confuse sexual harassment with rape. BUT. Just as there are different forms of love like I love my daughter, I love the sunset, I FUCKING love a good cosmo, and pasta (even though I’m not supposed to), there are different types of sexual harassment and yes, at times rape might be involved, but not always.
A few days ago I showed up at what I’ll just call a “casual business thing” and much to my immediate dismay, I was the only woman in attendance. (OK sure, there were a few others onsite, but they weren’t involved in the “casual business thing.”) Anyway … as much as it pains me to admit this, I was incredibly uncomfortable. The men in attendance were high-profile businessmen, political influencers, etc., … and ranged in age from say 35 to 70. And then there was me.
I wore a fairly conservative dress, but cute, I mean hey, I even added a safety pin to the chest opening because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too low cut. But it was still a dress … it wasn’t a fucking moo moo … and yea, I looked good. But I mean come the F on, am I supposed to hide the way I look am I supposed to apologize for actually being a good-looking woman?? Am I?
“Getting talked about is one of the penalties for being pretty, while being above suspicion is about the only compensation for being homely.” ~ Kim Hubbard
A little backstory … I was 45 minutes late to the meeting. There was some kind of major police escort going on and they shut a shitload of the freeway down, so I reverted to some backroads, blah, blah, blah … I got a phone call on the way down ensuring me that they would wait … so OK. I’m golden. Stop stressing. I’ll get there when I get there. When I arrive, and I walk in everyone turns, conversation ceases, and I feel like I just stepped up to a podium, poised to deliver some dramatic announcement. Instantly I am aware of the fact that I am the only one (with a vagina) in a dress. In their defense, I can see why they might stop and wonder who the hell was interrupting, but I mean come the F on. I am not here to do a striptease!
To make matters worse, when I arrived I parked in a not-very-inviting spot, and when it came time to leave it took five backroom workers to talk me out. Yea. It was bad. Call me a princess. Go ahead.
Anyway, the point here is this, I was (like I said) incredibly uncomfortable. So much so that I think I bombed the interview (note, I was there as a journalist, so I was doing the interviewing). I was flustered and sounded like an idiot. Because the whole time I was worried about who was staring at my boobs, my ass, me … and I couldn’t concentrate. And the whole experience has made me wonder if I can handle this type of work. Was it sexual harassment? No. I don’t think so. But, I can honestly say that for the first time in my life, I get it. Because I was vulnerable. Maybe even a little scared. Maybe. And that’s not right.
Cover image, yes, that’ me at a wine tasting event—not the same one I wrote about in this post. Which, I have to admit, was kind of hard to read again, even after five years.
DISCLAIMER: I’m a writer and an editor. And I try my best to make sure every post is articulate and free from errors. However, being that I edit my own work—and it’s next to impossible to properly edit your own work—I admit, occasionally there may be an error or two I miss. But doing so doesn’t make me an idiot so don’t be mean. Just smile, pat yourself on the back for finding an error and be glad you’re not the only one who makes mistakes sometimes … xoxox
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